Come Home
by XMarisolX
Summary: "When the four of them sit down to dinner together, say grace, break bread and quilt their disparate lives back together at the end of a long day, it's David's own personal Norman Rockwell fantasy."  Written for the Queerly Awesome Comment Ficathon.


**Title:** "Come Home"  
**Description:** David's tired, only a little hungry and a little on edge. Written for the Queerly Awesome Comment Ficathon. Prompt: _Six Feet Under_, David/Keith, _take your time (coming home)_  
**Fandom:** _Six Feet Under_  
**Genre: **Futurefic, Hurt/Comfort  
**Characters:** The Charles-Fishers  
**Disclaimer:** It is with a heavy heart that I admit that the exclusive rights to _Six Feet Under_ aren't mine, nor will they ever be. If this is news to you, we have bigger fish to fry.  
**Rating:** T  
**Feedback:** Welcomed with open arms… and toes.

* * *

David wakes from the couch after an unexpected nap. He glances at the clock; it's a little after eight, only twentyish minutes since he sat down. He's more tired than he wants to be, less hungry than he should be and a little on edge. He mutes the TV and wanders into the cold —and tauntingly pristine—kitchen. Even though it's early, it's still too late to get started on dinner. Well, not a real dinner anyway. Not the poached trout and roasted curry vegetables he had thought of making while scrubbing blood off of Mr. Morrison's toes earlier today. And worse, no one's home. _No one_. A fact which deepens his already surly mood. Because the Charles-Fisher clan does dinner, and they do it well. They would never be the idyllic family that David had imagined for himself when he was a young man. Even before the boys came along, David's vocational choice never impressed anyone at cocktail parties. He and Keith were a gay couple, not to mention mixed-race. The boys had come to them half grown and preferred rap music to tire swings. And while David wouldn't trade a single bit of _any_ of his family for all the red-headed babies with Jennifer in the world, he still has dinnertime, at six -thirty, every night. It's probably (_likely_) some vestige of being raised by Ruth Fisher, but no matter— when the four of them sit down to dinner together, say grace, break bread and quilt their disparate lives back together at the end of a long day, it's David's own personal Norman Rockwell fantasy.

So where the _fuck_ is everybody?

He knows that Keith is working late; sometimes the security company that he used to work for calls him up when they need an extra gun. Durrell is presumably staying with his girlfriend, a growing habit that defeats the entire purpose of his going to a _local_ mortuary school. And Anthony …

Where is Anthony?

David wants to know. He dials the boy's—well, young man's number. After three rings his curiosity begins to give way to anger, and David swears to God that if Anthony doesn't answer—

But he does answer.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah?" David snaps. "That's the way you answer the phone?"

"Sorry," Anthony answers. Then nothing. "What's … up?"

"_What's up?_ I should be asking _you_ that. Where are you?" David asks, harsher than he means to be.

"At Shaun's."

_Who the hell is Shaun?_ David races through his mind trying to call up a face. Anthony can hear him thinking.

"Shaun is the guy I took with me to the step show last week. Remember you drove us."

David suddenly remembers vividly, and the fact that he didn't at first only adds to his irritation. "Yeah, Shaun, I know who Shaun is. Were you planning on telling anybody?"

"I sent Keith a message," Anthony replies. At sixteen he still sounds like he's pleading his way out of a spanking, just like he did when he was a little boy. David takes a deep breath, and speaks more calmly this time.

"When are you coming home?"

"Well," Anthony starts, "my curfew is at 10, so I was thinking—"

"And how are you getting home?"

"Keith lent me the truck," he explains. And now, David is back angry.

"I don't believe this," he mutters.

"What?" Anthony asks defensively. But David can only think that Anthony's had his driver's license for _two weeks_, and Keith worships that truck. If Anthony wrecks it, _David's_ the one that's going to have to put up with a moody husband for weeks. Besides, David hates it when Keith just … operates like he doesn't even exist.

He shakes his head. "Nothing, Anthony," he says and hangs up.

He tosses his phone on the table then walks to the fridge. He takes out a Tupperware container of leftover Pad Thai, drops into a chair at the table, and then snarfs down a cold, heaping spoonful of the spicy noodles. He stares at the container and then, after a moment, rises and drops the whole thing into the trash.

Watching the door of the trash bin rock furiously back and forth, the outburst leaves him feeling good for about two seconds before he settles into an alternating mess of self-pity and self-loathing. _Two minutes by myself and I already feel hopelessly alone._ Then, _I'm the only one in this family that actually gives a damn about anyone else._ Then, _The boys are growing up; what do I expect_? Then, (and this is where he always lands), _I need Keith_.

He grabs his phone off the table, and dials Keith's number. A moment later, he hears the theme song of _The Towering Inferno_ playing in the other room, and it's getting gradually louder.

"Keith?" he says to the darkness beyond the kitchen, before the man himself appears in the kitchen door.

"Hey," Keith says with a smile on his face.

David, a little startled, stares a second before responding. "You're home early."

Keith nods. "The governor pulled out ahead of schedule. So the extras got to leave," He tosses the mail on the kitchen table before taking off his gun and laying it down beside the mail.

David nods. "Good," he says. He approaches Keith and they share a little kiss. "I missed you," he whispers.

Keith chuckles just a little to himself. "I bet you did." David cuts his eye at him playfully, and picks up the mail, rifling through it.

"Where are the boys?" Keith says, looking around.

"Anthony's still at Shaun's and Durrell is probably somewhere slipping on a condom," David cracks. Dropping the mail, he walks towards the refrigerator.

"Good," Keith said.

Pausing with the fridge door open, David turns back to him. "Good?"

"Yeah. We never get anytime alone."

David silently agrees, and then peers into the fridge and explores their options. Keith approaches him and pushes the door shut.

"You aren't hungry?" David asks.

Saying nothing, Keith grabs a bottle of wine off the wine rack, and then takes David's hand. "Follow me," he purrs. David can't help but smile as Keith tugs him forward. Just as they hit the kitchen door, David's phone rings.

"It's Anthony," he explains before answering. Keith sighs, frustrated. "Hey … When? ... No, no, it's OK," David says. He steals a look at Keith. "It's fine, really. Take your time coming home." He hangs up and stuffs the phone in his pocket. He gives Keith an expectant look. Keith extends his hand towards the door.

"After you," he says. Smiling, David jogs off as they head upstairs.


End file.
